


Karmic Meetings

by vega_voices



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 10:55:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vega_voices/pseuds/vega_voices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’d been distracted by the green eyes and slight tint of red in his chocolate hair. Her brain instantly filed away his other physical characteristics. Six foot or six-one, African-American, athletic build, late twenties or early thirties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Karmic Meetings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [helsinkibaby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/helsinkibaby/gifts).



**Title:** Karmic Meetings  
 **Author:** vegawriters  
 **Pairing:** Sara/Warrick  
 **Spoilers/Timeline:** Pre-season 1/Pilot.  
A/N: [](http://helsinkibaby.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://helsinkibaby.livejournal.com/)**helsinkibaby** owes me. This is part of a larger universe that is not yet written. But if this series takes off, it will be worked into that one. Yes, I'm cryptic.  
 **Disclaimer:** If it had been me, Warrick would have lived. He’d have had some other issue going on and maybe had to resign. Maybe he’d have become a cop. Maybe, maybe, maybe. But it wasn’t me. So, because of that, I make not a dime from this. But my un-agented self is always looking for work.

**Summary:** _She’d been distracted by the green eyes and slight tint of red in his chocolate hair. Her brain instantly filed away his other physical characteristics. Six foot or six-one, African-American, athletic build, late twenties or early thirties._

**Salt Lake City, 1999**

Forensics units were getting smarter, Sara decided. Why send a bunch of pent up lab rats and criminalists to places like Vegas or Miami where they’d spend workshop and breakout session time in the casinos or on the beach when they could just send them to Salt Lake or some other just as boring place. This way, it was ensured the departments would get their money’s worth.

Outside the floor to ceiling walls of the lobby level restaurant in Salt Lake’s downtown Marriot, white, puffy flakes of snow fell from low, gray clouds. It wasn’t like the snow back in Boston, which clung to everything like a wet wool blanket. No this was dry and kicked up around car tires, resting precariously over sheer black ice that sent people sliding this way and that in spite of the blue salt that covered every walking surface. At first glance at least it was pretty.

With a sigh, she leaned back in the comfortable booth that was tucked right next to the huge fireplace that dominated the center of the room. To her right a collection of men who were large enough to be basketball players ordered more food than any six people could eat in a week. To her left, three ski bums who reeked of pot tried to impress three equally high snow bunnies while the group downed cup after cup of hot cocoa. She just picked at her salad and watched tendrils of steam rise from her third cup of coffee while she contemplated life beyond the conference. One more case and she’d be a CSI 3 and she could get out from the hell of swing shift. Gil had made a mention more than once that he’d love her on his team, but it was easier to transfer once the credentials were in place. Anyway, while Vegas was short for all shifts, they also looked for people able to do lab work and the two materials lab tech positions they had were full. A transfer was going to be difficult.

A shadow fell across the table and she glanced up. Standing in front of her was someone who had been in her first breakout that morning. He’d never been a lab tech and those crims always had a different view of things, and tended to bust in with assumptions rather than analysis. Despite that, he’d had some interesting things to say about the nature of evidence collection and proved that he wasn’t just some juiced up wanna-be detective. Rick? Was that his name? She honestly couldn’t remember. She’d been distracted by the green eyes and slight tint of red in his chocolate hair. Her brain instantly filed away his other physical characteristics. Six foot or six-one, African-American, athletic build, late twenties or early thirties.

“Sara, right?”

Oh yeah, voice that could make her toes curl.

“Yeah. Sara Sidle, San Francisco PD. Rick?”

“Warrick, actually.” He flashed a smile and she added ‘perfect teeth’ to her physical profile. “Warrick Brown, LVPD.”

“Vegas?” She perked up. “Do you know Gil Grissom?”

“Yeah!” Warrick smiled back and Sara nodded to the other booth. He slid in across from her. “He’s my supervisor, actually. How do you know him?”

She shrugged, “We’ve known each other a while, through different forensics operations.” He nodded and she relaxed when he didn’t press for answers. They didn’t have to divulge every secret now. Or ever. They were two professionals talking at a conference and, if conference procedure held, they’d probably be two professionals who spent the night or the week fucking and then forgot about each other until the next time around. Even science nerds deserved sex from time to time. The waitress came by and offered him a menu, which he accepted but didn’t glance at. Sara took a sip of her coffee and stared at him. So what now? What next? He winked. She signed her salad and coffee to her room.

His room was closer.

They didn’t speak again until after she’d screamed for God and collapsed, sweating, onto Warrick’s bed. He grinned and rolled off, disposing of the condom before coming back to her. His body was warm against hers and she snuggled close and looked up, out the window, through the curtains they’d left open. The streetlight and the snow reflections were the only light in the room and it created a faux romantic atmosphere that lulled her into a state of relaxation. This was her usual cue. She’d kiss his chest, get up, throw on her clothes and tuck her bra into her back pocket, and then disappear back to her room. But Warrick was comfortable and she didn’t want to leave and he wasn’t exactly pushing her away. So she stayed, feeling him breathe.

“This your usual MO?” He asked after a long moment. His voice vibrated in his chest when he talked.

“What, hook up with a guy at a conference?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” She glanced up at him, “But this is the longest I’ve stayed after.”

He grinned and a hand went up to brush a strand of her hair out of her face. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Well the sex was good.” She teased. Her body stirred and she sat up a bit, knowing that the sheet was falling away and that the street light outside illuminated her body in just the right places. His fingers made their way from her hairline down past her collarbone and settled on her breast. A click of his tongue and cock of his head moved her from his side to straddling his body.

“You’re beautiful,” he said and one finger traced down from her breast, highlighting the scar she never spoke of. A question crossed his face but he smartly left it be.

“Thank you,” she responded before leaning down to kiss him. It was better to kiss. Kissing kept them from talking and if she wasn’t careful, she’d tell this man everything. Who was it that had said that love at first sight wasn’t possible but that you had to look first before love could ever begin? Well she’d looked and she wanted to keep looking and that went against her MO. So she had to kiss him and keep him active and let him use her body just as she wanted to use his. Anything else went against her pattern and no good CSI ever changed their pattern. So she kissed him and moved against him and helped put on the condom and dig her nails into his shoulder as he moved inside her. She’d leave in the morning, before he woke up. By tomorrow night, she’d have someone else in her bed. It was the safest way to do it.

The next time she came, she called his name. Over and over again.

***

  
**Las Vegas, 2000**

“Sara Sidle?” He asked the question even while he heard Grissom explaining to Catherine that she was a friend of his from San Francisco. Sara Sidle. To him the name didn’t mean some friend from a forensic lab but a week of skipping out on meetings to share bodily fluids and the occasional room service meal. They hadn’t spoken since. Not even a text message or an email to see how things were going and while he’d expected it, he was also disappointed. It was also clear that Grissom had no idea about their week together or he never would have called her in. Did he come clean or use this as an excuse to see her again? Would she jump back into bed or completely clean his clock? Given the fact that there had been no contact, he had to guess the latter. And sitting at the black jack tables, winning money back for the judge who had him by the shorts, he realized just how much he wanted to see her and how disappointed she was going to be.

“Stay,” he heard her say. “I want to talk to you.”

They sat next to each other, staring into the sludge-based coffee in the chipped diner mugs. Sara didn’t mention anything about Salt Lake. He didn’t dare. Instead he let her words float around his brain. Holly Gribbs was dead and even if he hadn’t pulled the trigger, he’d left her alone. He’d left her in the hands of some damned uni who didn’t bother to make sure a rookie had backup. Forget that she’d been alone at a scene earlier, this was a dangerous one and he’d walked away. Hazing rituals aside, he’d walked away, and a woman was dead. He’d shot people in the line before, had ducked bullets and thrown a few punches. But he’d never once felt as responsible as he did now. Gambling. He’d done it all to lay some money down not just for himself for the judge, and had even done that wrong.

Finally he looked at her, saw her chicken scratch notes, and knew that no matter what, he was out of a job. An internal investigation didn’t need to be done for him to know that. No lab would take him after this. No precinct. His life had been about law enforcement and now what? She had tears at the corner of her eyes and when he met her gaze, she looked away.

“Sara, about …”

“That never happened, Warrick.” She looked back at him. “If we talk about it now, it goes in a report and then I get reprimanded for taking this case and then Grissom gets reprimanded for putting me on it and you’re still fired.”

“So why’d you take it?”

She kept staring at her pen. “Grissom has been wanting to move me here for a while. He needed my help, so I’m here. Also, I wanted to see if it really was you who did this.”

“I didn’t do anything, Sara.”

She looked up at him, “You left a juiced up rookie alone at a crime scene. She probably thought she could handle anything and you left her there.”

He could see it then, the fear in her eyes, the wondering if it was something he’d have done to anyone. His head, still jonseing for the game he’d left behind, told him it was silly. He could handle anything. But looking at her, he knew better. What if they’d stayed in touch after Salt Lake? It was good then that they hadn’t. He wasn’t sure if he could handle that additional level of disappointment. “Okay.” He said.

She just nodded and got up, leaving a five on the counter to cover her coffee. He followed suit. Outside, they got back into her car and drove in tense silence back to the lab. He didn’t know what was worse, that he was about to lose his job or she was going to be here in Vegas and wouldn’t let him touch her. Either way, karma was a bitch.


End file.
